March of the Witch Hunters
Chapter 2- Counting Every Minute
Sometimes I question my decisions. How am I ever to know what I'm doing is right? I didn't want to be the reason he locked himself in his apartment for weeks on end. I didn't want to be the reason my parents divorced, almost a year after my empty casket had been lowered into the ground. Do you think I was proud, seeing my picture in the obituaries? The missing posters?
I'm not looking for sympathy from you or anyone else—my actions were necessary. At least, I think they were. Do I regret them?
I'm not sure yet.
-Lily Evans
He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her chest rise and fall with each steady breath. The mud had been sponged from her cheeks; the blood stanched on her shoulder. He wondered what had driven her to such madness; what acts she had committed to instill such a fear in her eyes. It was like witnessing the decomposition of a soul—a broken woman reduced to hiding.
He wondered if she had retained any of her old spirit. She could shoot a man down with one look—he had always been a walking target by choice. She used to laugh, smile, stubbornly glare… but now her face was wiped clean of emotion.
It was hard to describe how he was feeling. It was a mixture of guilt, nostalgia, and anger. Remembering what used to be was difficult—it made his stomach churn in upset. It was an unspeakable betrayal that was already eating away at him.
There was one question that had loomed in the back of his mind since he had seen her in the forest.
Why?
Severus Snape apparated into a cold wine cellar, the surrounding bottles dusty and labels disintegrated with age. He took a brief moment to catch his breath. He'd been looking in the forest for hours, trying to find Lily.
Brushing dirt from his cloak, Snape exited the wine cellar and stepped out into a deserted hallway, mouth-eaten tapestries embellishing the walls and rusty suits of armor rigid in their places. Approaching the throne room, Snape felt his stomach stir—he'd failed the Dark Lord, and he was not the empathetic type.
Snape pushed open the double doors to the throne room, revealing a gothic-inspired, high-ceilinged room with a stone cathedra and a long table with cluttered chairs around it. The Dark Lord seemed to be patiently awaiting his return, the snake-like man sitting unceremoniously on his marbled throne. At his feet, death eaters whispered amongst themselves, all angrily looking up as he entered. Snape brushed past them without care, staring intently into the Dark Lord's red eyes as he neared him and bowed in deference.
There followed a tomblike silence—unspeakably eerie.
"You have returned unsuccessful and without three of your comrades, Severus," Voldemort finally spoke, flippantly eyeing a black-jeweled ring on his spidery finger. His relative calm made the death eaters at his feet quail. "Where is Evans?"
"She has disappeared, my lord," Snape began softly, still kneeling. "I searched the woods for two hours. Dolohov is in the custody of the Order. Yaxley, on the other hand, is dead."
"I do not care where Dolohov and Yaxley are," Voldemort countered thinly, his grotesquely-handsome features contorted in an unreadable expression. "Tell me this, Severus: what Order members were present at the ambush?"
"Not that he'd know," Bellatrix abruptly spoke up, lowering her hood and rising to her feet to face the Dark Lord. Her once beautiful face was now skeletal in appearance. "You see my lord, Snape was too busy babysitting Evans to see anyone. I, however, fought valiantly."
"Hold your tongue, Bellatrix," Voldemort hissed in response, causing her to cower under his sudden fury. "All of you, get out, now."
The death eaters obediently filed out of the throne room, including Bellatrix, who looked distraught because of her berating. It was no secret she worshipped the Dark Lord, and yearned to be his favourite. The creaky door was firmly shut behind them, effectively shutting her out of the conversation. Snape was left alone with Voldemort.
"Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Caradoc Dearborn, Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon, Alastor Moody...and I believe James Potter was there, too," Snape recited, attempting not to flinch as he announced the last name on his list.
Voldemort momentarily went mute, his malevolent eyes focused on the decrepit chandelier hanging above them. Snape had witnessed a great many things in this room—tortures, the resurrection of Inferi, bloody duels for sport—it wasn't a congenial place to be.
"I expect she is with Potter," Voldemort silently seethed.
"It is a possibility. I know Evans isn't at the Ministry with Dolohov," Snape affirmed. "I assume she would be if any other Order member had captured her—except perhaps Lupin."
"That is something," Voldemort relented. Snape was unsettled by his sudden change in temper, as well as the twisted smile that transformed his face. "Perhaps this may actually work out in our favour."
"You don't think she'll take shelter within the Order?" Snape probed, keeping the skepticism out of his voice—he'd learned to speak without emotion, monotonous and plain, a long time ago. Feelings were weakness, and not something you offered up to the Dark Lord willingly.
"No," Voldemort replied confidently. "She'll be back."
"But—?"
"You may go, Severus. I'll summon for you when she returns," Voldemort dismissed him sharply, leaning back in his throne. "Speak of this to no one."
Snape nodded his head and glided out of the room at a pace that didn't give away his alarm. It hadn't previously occurred to him that James Potter could've encountered Lily, and he didn't quite understand the Dark Lord's misplaced confidence that she would return if they had. What did the Voldemort know that he didn't...?
With a crack, Severus Snape apparated out of death eater headquarters, ready to take refuge in Spinner's End and premeditate his next move. The mere thought of her with him again made his blood boil.
"Everyone gather round, quickly!" Alastor Moody growled, beckoning Order of the Phoenix members to sit down at the long table in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. "We have important information to discuss...ah, here's Dumbledore."
An average-sized man with a long sallow beard and half-moon spectacles entered the dining room, wearing magnificent magenta robes and a serene expression.
"Good evening, everyone," Dumbledore began, immediately garnering everyone's attention and making them go silent—he had that effect on people. "As you know, a group of Order members were given the task of intercepting a small death eater meeting in Canterbury. Alastor and I would like to update you on what has transpired."
"Was it a success?" Hestia Jones piped up, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Relatively," Dumbledore replied, peering at her over his spectacles.
"We currently have Antoine Dolohov incarcerated and awaiting trial. We believe there were five death eaters waiting in the field for Yaxley, who we had imperiused previous to his appearance there. Unfortunately, the curse wore off and Yaxley put up a fight. Now he's dead."
"The other four escaped?" Kingsley Shacklebolt questioned from across the table.
"Yes. They made it to the end of the forest and apparated before we were able to catch them. Put up quite a fight," Gideon Prewett commented loudly, entering the room with his brother, Fabian. "Have all the Order members returned yet?"
"That brings me to my next matter. We have an Order member missing," Moody rumbled, faces in the room turning ashen.
"Who is it?" Sirius Black, a dashingly-handsome man with dark eyes and hair, asked sternly. He swallowed hard, finding a particular seat at the table empty.
"Potter," Moody replied, carefully awaiting his reaction.
"How can he be missing?" Sirius demanded angrily, jabbing a finger at Moody. "Did someone see him captured?"
"Last person that saw him was McKinnon," Moody looked toward Marlene, whose chest was bandaged under her clothing. She suffered two broken ribs.
"He was chasing a death eater—I'm sure it was a female. I saw James standing over her, probably ready to take her to the Ministry, because he had his wand drawn…then I turned around for one second, and they had both vanished," Marlene explained, looking deeply worried.
Sirius scowled at Marlene, unmoved by cracked ribs and tearful eyes. He wanted answers.
"Were they at the edge of the forest?" Kingsley inquired, shattering the silence.
"Almost, but I didn't try apparating there, so I don't know if that's how he disappeared," Marlene replied miserably, becoming more upset with each question posed.
"Well that was a bloody idiotic move, wasn't it?" Sirius spat, narrowing his eyes.
"I'd just suffered a head trauma, Sirius!" Marlene cried angrily. "I didn't know what to do in the moment!"
"Then perhaps you should work in a less dangerous job, Marlene. I head the Quibbler is looking for a part-time office witch," Sirius retorted vindictively, his fetching looks contorted in frustration.
"That's enough," Dumbledore resounded, shutting the two up, though they continued to glare at one another.
"Have you checked the Ministry and St. Mungo's, Marlene?" Edgar Bones added, trying to be helpful.
"Lupin is at the hospital for an injury to his back, and he hasn't seen James—"
"This is ridiculous!" Sirius announced his voice feral. "If this death eater was injured, she couldn't have possibly taken James down! He could still be out there in the forest!"
"I've pondered over this matter a great deal, Sirius, and if James does not turn up by tomorrow, we will begin looking for him," Dumbledore said compassionately. "We will discuss this matter further in the morning. I implore you all to take great caution and keep an eye out for any mysterious activity."
"You're dismissed," Moody grumbled after Dumbledore had finished, shooing the frazzled Order members out of the dining room and into the main hall, where Sirius cursed at the portrait of his screeching mother.
After they'd filtered out, Moody turned to Dumbledore, looking cynical.
"Where do you reckon Potter is?" he asked brusquely, withdrawing a silver flask from his shirt pocket and taking a swig.
"I'm confident he'll turn up soon, Alastor," Dumbledore replied softly, throwing a large handful of Floo powder into the dining room fireplace. "Until morning, then."
Dumbledore stepped into the green fire, more confident than the rest, and with a splinter of sound, disappeared into the flames.
"You know," James whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands in a prayer-like fold and his messy, dark hair falling over his face. "I've always toiled with the concept of fate—if we are in the places we are meant to be in."
He looked down at Lily, his eyes swimming with sadness as he brushed a lock of her red hair off of her sweaty skin. She didn't look a day over eighteen. James was reminded of their Hogwarts days together—it was like a knife in his gut.
Lily stirred, weakly squinting in the dark room, attempting to focus her eyes on the man speaking softly to her. Almost immediately, James stood up and crossed the room, peaking from behind one of the curtains to look out onto the empty street. They were motionless and bare, a wrought-iron lamppost the only source of illumination.
"James?" Lily murmured, barely conscious as she propped herself up on her elbows. "Is that you?"
"Yes," James replied quietly, his shadowy figure pacing about the opposite side of the dark room. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, hard eyes meeting empty ones.
"Am I dreaming?" Lily whispered, disoriented. "This can't be real."
"I've been asking myself that question all night," James replied catatonically from the corner, seemingly preoccupied with another activity. "I'm not quite sure if it would be defined as a dream or a nightmare."
"No…this isn't happening," Lily breathed hysterically, her eyes bloodshot as they scavenged the room. "I've got to get out of here, I've—"
Lily jumped to her feet, an unwise movement as her knees buckled and a wave of nausea crashed against her chest. Before she hit the carpeted floor, James caught her left forearm and steadied her, leading her back into bed. He could feel her trembling beneath his grasp, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw nothing but terror. The palm of his hand burned under her touch.
"Why do you look at me like that, Lily?" James asked emotionlessly, his expression passive and distant as he watched for her reaction. "You are the ghost here, not I."
"I…I never thought I'd see you again," Lily gasped, closing her eyes as she was lowered back onto the double bed. "I wasn't supposed to see you, I—"
"You reappearance is as devastating to you as it is to me," James whispered sadly, his insides screaming as his anger did the talking. "It would've been easier if you had never come back."
It was what Lily had dreaded since relinquishing to the Dark Lord: James hated her.
"James, I—" Lily started, fever clouding her vision and focus.
"Sleep, Lily. I will deal with you when you are in a right state of mind," James said harshly, backing away from the bed and heading for the door.
Deal with me?
"And Lily," James called out one last time, deliberately pausing before his last statement. "Try and leave, and I'll kill you."
He closed the bedroom door, the last sliver of light disappearing before the room sank into a deeper darkness. Lily cowered under the covers, his last words registering.
Clearly he didn't love her anymore.